A Company of Heroes
by Random Userna- MANATEE
Summary: Rarely do heroes start as heroes. But there comes a time when everyone must push past their flaws - especially if the fate of the world depends on it. Skyrim's fate now rests on the shoulders of a pyromaniac Dragonborn, aided by an immature Companion, a licentious thief, a tortured mage, an accidental assassin, a stubborn Stomcloak, a stuck-up Legionaire and an oblivious bard.
1. Prologue

Welcome, my friends, welcome. Please, have a seat! Buy some mead – I'm sure Teeknai would be happier for it. Can't keep an inn up and running on the price of rooms alone. After all, what is sleeping to drinking? Ah, no, no, I'll take a mug later, but thank you, Darnus. My instrument is always in need of oiling, but one cannot clean a tool and use it at the same time. After the story, I'll come back for that drink.

Yes, now, the story. After all, I am no subpar bard. I know the kind you poor folk have been dealing with for the past while – sing a few songs, maybe bang on the drums. No, no, _no_. This is not the proper way to demonstrate our craft. A bard is so much more. A performer – a storyteller. Call me old, call me old-fashioned, but I do believe in doing these things the right way. Not to worry, all those whose ears enjoy a pleasing tune, I have also brought my lute. But music is only second tonight. This is the time for the story.

Some of you may have heard rumours of it. None of you, though, I can guarantee, were ever present to see the events with your own eyes. After all, even I was born after, and I have more wrinkles and grey hairs than the rest of you combined. Don't blush so red, Maeria, laugh with the others! It was a joke – I am not ashamed of my age. No, it just means I'm wiser than the rest of you, isn't that right, young Vertak? You'll have to stop bouncing so close to the fire, boy, or you'll give your poor mother a heart attack.

Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the story. It is a truly wonderful tale, filled to the brim with all sorts of things that please audiences. Swordfights, romance, epic journeys, mythical creatures.

Heroes.

Now, bear in mind that, though it may sound fantastical, I am telling a very real tale, with characters who were, at least once, very real people. They are not your typical heroes, all muscles and wits and kind, loving hearts. This is not how a real person is, though some of us enjoy fooling ourselves into believing it. But even if these are not the warriors you worship, Vertak, or the beautiful maidens your sister loves so much, they do still ascend to greatness. A Harbinger of Ysgramor's famed Companions. Guild Master, the biggest honour in Riften's notorious Thieves' Guild. The highest-ranking assassin in the mysterious Dark Brotherhood. The Arch-Mage of Winterhold's renown College. Two commanding officers of the top-most ranks, in both the Legion and the Stormcloak armies, back when the war was still being fought across Skyrim. Ah, and of course, a most practiced bard from Solitude's illustrious Bard's College. She is, in fact, the reason I know so much of this story. But tales of my mother's exploits will come later, as will the identity of my father. I enjoy leaving you to squirm with your guesses.

Of course, I have not mentioned the one person perhaps most important to this tale. One hero to unite the rest. Without him, it is safe to say none might have achieved the greatness they later came to be known for. Of course, at the time, he held no knowledge of his great future. Nor, for that matter, did any of the others. Destiny is a sneaky thing, cropping up when you least expect it and never taking the form you wished. The gods are cruel, some might say, to burden mere men and women with these tasks. But the gods are wise – they know what we can handle, and they know how best to let our greatness shine through. We must trust them in their decisions.

Now, is everyone settled comfortably? Good – then we shall begin. But how best to start off a story such as this, hm? Ah, I know. You've all probably heard enough songs to last a lifetime, but please, let me grace your ears with one more. It hasn't been sung in a while, I'd guess. It is an older song, to be sure, but so suited to the tale I tell. Let me just grab my lute . . . ah, there we are. Shall we begin?

_Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart._

_I tell you, I tell you the Dragonborn comes._

* * *

**_Welcome to my Skyrim fic, and thanks for reading! The story will somewhat follow the game, but with quite a few twists and OCs added in to hopefully make things interesting. Also, chapters will be much, much longer than this - this is just the prologue. I'm still debating on how to start the next chapter - Helgen is technically the game's start, but it's been done so many times and we all know it well. If anyone has preferences as to whether I should write it or just start the story off some other way, let me know. Thank you!_**


	2. Bedlam in Falkreath

**GUILD MASTER**

Falkreath. Mariette was positive it was the most depressing hold in all of Skyrim. Not a _single_ shiny gem or golden ring to be found throughout the entire area. Especially here in Helgen; people were so controlled by the Imperial presence cloaking the town that every spare coin went towards supporting the Empire's war effort. The citizens weren't exactly poverty-stricken, but they certainly didn't have anything worth stealing.

So this job was nothing more than Delvin's pathetic idea of a prank. A bedlam job in Falkreath, honestly! What, Mariette mused, could she possibly have done to deserve this?

Well, all right, there had been a few incidents. Perhaps Delvin saw this as revenge for the time they had broken into the Black-Briar Lodge and spent the night in one of the enormous bedrooms, only for Mariette to sneak out before dawn and leave him to be found by the Black-Briars' personal host of mercenaries. Yes, that one might have gotten him into Maven's bad books, but at least he'd had a wonderful night before that. Mariette knew her company was always a pleasure, if not particularly hard to come by.

"Wow."The bard lying next to her still hadn't wiped the huge, silly grin off his face. "I mean, I've never been partial to magic, but using spells like _that_ . . . My dear little Breton, I do believe you've come up with a new art form."

Yes, she had certainly performed admirably – as always, of course. The bard, eh . . . well, she'd had better. But no use letting him in on that. Instead, Mariette rolled over to face him, giggling just as her flighty, air-headed persona would. "Does that make me an honorary bard?"

The Nord – she couldn't remember for the life of her what his name was – chuckled. "Well, I don't know about that. Still, if you ever find yourself in Solitude, feel free to drop by the College. I'd, ah, well, I'd very much like to see you again."

"You're going back to the Bard's College?" She furrowed her thin, dark eyebrows, trying to convey as much oblivious ignorance as she could. "Why? More lessons?"

He snorted and sat up. "Of course not! The Burning of King Olaf is coming up and I always like to be in Solitude for the Festival." Frowning at her, he shot his arm out, grabbing for the lute leaning against the bedside table. His fingers stumbled along the strings, then began to mindlessly strum up and down the instrument as he continued, "Do you really think a bard of my calibre needs more lessons?"

"Oh, no, of course not!" _Not in lute playing, maybe, but with _other _things . . ._ Mariette had thought a bard's hands, along with his voice, were his entire craft. Helgen's singer, however, had the largest, clumsiest fingers she'd ever seen – she pitied the poor strings on his instrument. No, in all her years and all her encounters, this man was definitely on the lower half of the performance scale, both in and out of bed. But it was Falkreath, so she had to make some allowances.

Obviously still a bit miffed at her accidental insult, the bard turned away, laying his instrument down and preparing to rise. "Now, where did I leave my pants . . .?"

She saw them first, draped over the chest at the end of the bed, and managed to snatch them before he could even move. The playful smile on her lips coupled with the gleam in her eyes worked like an invisibility potion on his irritation; all at once, that stupid grin of his was back. "Aw, come on, I've got to work. Give them here."

"No." She danced away, shaking the pants just out of his reach.

He made a grab for them and she laughed, skipping away once more. Couldn't move too fast for him though, the poor dear, so she made sure his next attempt ended with his fingers wrapping tightly around her wrist. "Oh, don't be a spoilsport," she whined as he pulled her around to face him. "After all, you don't want me to put _my_ clothes on yet, do you?"

They were standing close now, almost touching, and her ample chest was on full display, framed wonderfully by her flowing curtain of long, raven-black hair. She watched his eyes glimmer as he looked down. _Got him. And might as well have a little more fun before leaving this pathetic town behind. _"Well, I might be able to spare another moment or two . . ."

"The Imperials are coming! The Imperials are coming! Mister Darek, the Imperials-"

The sudden shouts were barely enough warning before the door burst open, revealing a red-faced, brown-haired child grinning ear to ear with excitement. The expression died instantly, however, as the boy stopped short in the doorway, realising what he'd walked in on. "Ah! Mister Darek! I-" The boy jerked his head away, snapping his eyes shut tight. "I-I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't know you were-"

"Damn it, Hamming!" The bard made a desperate grab for the blanket, yanking if off the bed to try and cover himself, only to remember his naked companion standing right beside him. "Oh, Divines, I swear, this isn't what it . . ."

Darek stopped short, his gaze turned from Hamming to the empty space to his right. His pants were on the floor. Mariette was nowhere to be found. "I . . ."

"I'm so, so, so sorry, sir, I should have knocked," Hamming repeated, the crimson hue of his cheeks deepening further even with his eyes closed. "I didn't know you were getting dressed. I just thought you'd want to see for yourself. An Imperial messenger came ahead. Says they have a whole army on their way here. And they have _Ulfric Stormcloak_! That song you were singing last night, the one about driving out the Stormcloaks and down with Ulfric, it's really gonna come true!"

"That's great, Hamming." The child seemed unable to pick up on the obvious disinterest the man had in the news; Darek's eyes were still roaming about the room for the missing woman.

"They've got the Thalmor and everything! Gunnar said I should get you, so you can play that song again as they bring Ulfric in! Let him know what we think of the Stormcloaks!"

"Sure, sure, just give me a minute, will you?"

"Okay!" Hamming turned, nearly sprinting into the wall as his eyes were still shut. It took another second for the boy to manoeuvre his way out of the room and into the inn's main hall.

Darek sighed as the door slammed shut behind the excited child, then glanced once more around the room. Strange . . . wherever the woman had gone, she was nowhere to be found now. He frowned, almost as though worried she had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. Last night had seemed too good to be true.

Slowly, he found and donned the rest of his clothes and, with one last, confused glance over his shoulder, left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

Underneath the bed, Mariette let out her own sigh, though this was more of relief. It wasn't that she hadn't enjoyed the bard's company – any port in a storm, as the sailor's would say, and it had been ages since she'd last docked. But she was one who lived for the nights; mornings were slow, awkward and utterly not fun. Thank the Divines that child had given her just the opportunity she'd needed to slip away into the shadows.

A trick Delvin had helped her to master, she recalled, sliding out from under the wooden frame. The irony brought a smile to her lips. After all, it was his fault she'd come to this dull town in the first place. When she came back, she'd give him such a scolding. And then, later on. . .

"Vilod! You have to get out here now, the Imperials are here!"

"Who's going to watch the bar?"

"No one, it doesn't matter! The whole town is out waiting for the Imperials. They're coming down the road right now. Come on, Vilod!"

"All right, all right."

My, this town was full of convenient opportunities today. Perhaps she hadn't been giving Helgen enough credit.

Her dress lay abandoned on the floor, torn and ripped thanks to the gawky Nord, who apparently had been unable to contain his passion long enough to let her slip out of it herself. She had another, but with everyone gone and this hopefully her last day here, why not get into some more comfortable clothes? Besides, if everyone truly was off watching the Imperials, she'd be able to steal around the inn, grab all the valuables and take her leave without anyone even catching a glimpse of her.

So, with much relief, she opened the chest and pulled out the sack she'd brought with her. Unlike the dress, the clothes inside were treated with utmost care; as much as some of the Thieves Guild members liked to joke, she was in love with her armour, and would never trade it for anything more revealing. Not that it didn't already complement her figure, the supple leather hugging her small frame comfortably as she slid it on. The first time Tonilia had presented it to her, Mariette had smiled and asked if the Redguard had made it this way on purpose so her "assets" would be on full display. She had since learned to get on Tonilia's good side, and tease neither her nor Vekel if she wanted to keep selling off her stolen goods.

The boots slid on easily and after tugging her hood up, Mariette nearly laughed at how good this made her feel. Oh, the residents of Helgen wouldn't know what was coming – she was stealthy enough on her own, but with the armour's added enchantments, no one could touch her.

Still, she slid the door open cautiously, just in case the inn still held a few stragglers. Not a soul was present. _Excellent_. She could just walk right up to the counter and take what she wanted. Oh, who was laughing now, Delvin?

But her good humour died slightly as she began perusing the wooden shelves. A small coin purse with thirteen measly coins inside, an iron sword too heavy and cheap to bother taking and four bottles of Vilod's renowned Juniper Berry Mead. _That's it_? How did these people live? Precious gems were like men to Mariette; the longer she'd gone without having one, the bleaker life seemed.

"Hamming, just stay inside, all right?"

The inn's door creaked open, giving Mariette just enough time to drop behind the counter before the sounds of footfalls trailed across the floor at the other end of the main room. Two people were entering, that, she could tell. One must have been the boy, Hamming, and the other . . . she didn't recognise the voice.

"But papa, I want to see the soldiers! There gonna put Ulfric in jail with all the other Stormcloaks and I'm gonna miss it!"

A weary sigh, from the man who must have been Hamming's father. "Just . . . stay here, all right? I'll come and get you when it's over."

"Aw, papa . . ."

"_Hamming_."

"Fine . . ."

Footsteps again, a door opening and closing – but the child had been left in the inn. That could cause a few problems.

Mariette edged her way around the counter, peering around the wood to see that, indeed, Hamming was still present, sitting glumly on the stairs and frowning at the door. _The stairs_. That was where Vilod slept, along with his wife Arla and their newborn daughter. There must be something good up there.

But Hamming was in the way. And she'd be damned if she let herself get caught on a Thieves Guild job, especially if it was by some pint-sized, eleven-year-old boy. No, all this would take was a little creativity.

Mariette had never been a mage, much to her mother's chagrin; her preference in weapons were the much-adored daggers at her hips – light, silent, and deadly. Of course, no Breton escaped High Rock without learning at least a few spells, and though Mariette rarely put them to use, the faint throb of magicka remained in her palms, almost like a second pulse.

Now, she took a moment to focus, sifting through the spells she knew. _Hmm, have to remember, shouldn't kill the boy. What about . . . no. No. Ah. Yes. _

Her hands almost vibrated with energy, the same pleasing sensation of heat tickling the tips of her fingers as they began to glow. A small ball of light grew in her right hand, and quickly, she shot it off, sending the Magelight speeding into one of the inn's bedrooms. As predicted, she heard a gasp from Hamming and, sure enough, the child's curiosity overtook his sense of caution; footfalls sounded once more, heading for the source of the light. She peeked over the counter just in time to see Hamming's red shirt disappear through the bedroom door.

_Time to go. _As speedily and silently as she could, Mariette stood and snuck around the counter, following the far wall of the inn. Magelight lasted for sixty seconds, but she couldn't be sure it would hold the child's attention for that long. He might grow bored, or worse, get his father. But the boy was a Nord, growing up in an almost entirely Nord-populated village; she couldn't imagine him seeing too much magic, even if Helgen did receive occasional visits from the Thalmor. In any case, he stayed where he was, even after she had reached the steps.

_Now, _she thought, quietly ascending to the second floor, _if I was treasure, where would I hide? _The room up ahead was her best bet: large and hosting a double bed, it was clearly where Vilod and Arla slept. The wardrobe might hold a thing or two of worth, but Mariette was much more interested in the bedside table. Was that the familiar glint of a silver necklace residing on top? She smiled. _Now this is what I-_

Suddenly, a roar shook the air, so loud it seemed to vibrate the very inn Mariette stood in. Cursing, she stumbled back, hands retracting from the necklace to instead cover her ears. Gods, what was that? She'd never heard a creature roar so loud, and she'd met everything from bears to trolls. What, did the Imperials breed some new beast specifically for Ulfric's death?

Small windows lined the inn's wall, facing into the town, and she approached them now, taking her hands off her ears and realising a slight, scared whimpering was coming from below. Hamming. Divines knew what the child was thinking. Perhaps he thought the sound had come from her spell.

Taking care to remain unnoticed, Mariette cautiously cracked one of the windows open, peering out and searching for the source of the roar. Nothing out of the ordinary, although down below, every citizen in Helgen seemed to have gathered to watch the Stormcloaks' punishment. A few still looked about in confusion at the mysterious interruption, but most had returned their eyes to the block, toward which a large, red-headed Nord was striding. No one seemed to be greatly concerned by the sudden noise, and now the only thing that could be heard was the Stormcloak's final insult to the Imperials as what looked like the captain pushed him down to the block. It seemed they were saving Ulfric for last. _And gods know how much they'll celebrate once he's out of the way. _And how much they would drink. _Another _convenient opportunity; drunk men rarely watched their pockets. Helgen was certainly beginning to make up for its depressing nature.

With a disturbing squelch, followed by a loud _thunk,_ the headsman's axe hit the block, having first cleaved through the flesh and sinew of a Stormcloak's neck. Blood spurted everywhere as the head dropped into the basket, and moments later, gravity took the body as well; it rolled sideways, off the block and hit the dirt with a thud. The Imperial captain kicked it out of the way and called for the next prisoner.

_Yes, certainly a less depressing in nature n-_

Again, out of nowhere, the air shook with some monster's roar, even louder now that Mariette had her head out the window. But it wasn't just that; the noise also sounded . . . closer. As if whatever beast that had howled was nearing the town. Interesting – but not quite as interesting as the potential to collect jewels and coin. Mariette withdrew her head from the window and closed the glass pane, resolving to continue the search for the noise _after_ she got what she came for. One must always prioritise.

Her fingers closed around the silver necklace and she slipped it into one of her many pockets before quickly opening the bedside table's two drawers. A clothes iron, some sheaves of paper and a quill, five gleaming coins – _this is it? _Sighing, she snatched the gold and closed the drawers, then slowly turned her attention to the wardrobe. This was it; the last place anything of value might be kept. Divines, she hoped Arla had some expensive gems sewn onto her fine clothes . . .

_BOOM!_

The inn seemed to pitch sideways, taking Mariette with it, and she collapsed onto the bed. _What in Oblivion-?_ There was that roar again, but unlike the other times, it didn't stop – and on top of that, great crashing sounds could be heard from outside, not to mention the fact that the temperature seemed to have risen fifteen degrees in the last five seconds. She stumbled towards the window, wiping away the sweat quickly forming across her brow. _Gods, what is that noi-?_

She never made it to the window. Halfway across the room, something round and fiery plummeted straight through the inn's roof, driving a hole right into the floor in front of her. She yelped in surprise and stumbled back, eyes darting to the gap in the roof. Were those . . . _flaming rocks_ raining down from the sky?

Mariette didn't have time to question the sight, didn't even have time to feel the full force of confusion; at that moment, something big, black and scaly flew right over the roof of the inn, jaws gaping open to spew a breath of pure flames down on the buildings below.

_Was that . . . Was that actually . . . _No, it couldn't have been. There was no way she had just seen a . . . a _dragon_ flying over Helgen. It had been something else – a bird perhaps? Or, or maybe a hallucination; had she accidentally cut herself on one of her daggers, which were always coated in various assortments of poison?

Whatever it was, she had no time to mull over the possibilities; the danger was clearly real, what with the white-hot tongues of flames beginning to lick at the inn's walls. She needed to get out of here, and fast.

_CRASH!_

That didn't sound good.

She ran out of the bedroom, nimbly dodging piles of flaming timber that were beginning to fall from the roof; the place was going up faster than a pile of Bleeding Crown mushrooms. The reality was made all too evident when Mariette got to the stairs; at least, where the stairs _should _have been. She could see them now, collapsed on the bottom floor in a heap of burning wood; gods knew where Hamming was.

_That's all right, that's all right – come on, you're good at thinking under pressure. You just need an alternate escape route; like when that job at the Pawned Prawn went bad back in Riften. Don't worry yourself with everything else, just thi-_

Ah – she could jump. A jarring leap from the second floor to the first, sure, but it was better than nothing. The Breton glanced down at the mess of burning wreckage below, seeking out a safe place to land. _There. Just a little to the right. _The muscles in her legs tensed and she clenched her fists, steeling herself for the hurdle-

_CRASH!_

_Oh gods, what now?_

The sudden noise threw her off, and instead of taking the leap, she glanced back, expecting to see another flaming rock smashing through what little remained of the inn's roof. But it was worse. The Imperials had erected a military tower right next to the inn and clinging to the outside, its scaly head snapping through a hole in the stone while its tail smashed repeatedly into the side of the inn, was a beast Mariette could no longer dismiss as a poison-induced hallucination.

It was . . . indeed . . . a _dragon_.

In that moment, Mariette couldn't quite decide whether to be in awe over such an incredible, impossible sight, or terrified as death loomed over her, even more imminent than before. _No, put that out of your mind. _Frightened wasn't a state she did well, and as the beast took off once more, she felt her jaw set the same way it did whenever she was out on a difficult job. Whatever was going on, she would get out of it. _Because I am Mariette Evalion. _She smiled slightly; it was as simple as that.

Finding her footing again, Mariette prepared to jump for the second time, only to be stopped again by yet another crash, though this one not from beast or flaming rock. Someone had seemingly jumped from the adjacent tower, landed poorly and rolled right into one of Vilod's spare barrels of mead.

Whoever they were, they recovered quickly, struggling to their feet and turning back to the tower. "Ralof!" The cry was barely audible over the roars of the dragon, even less comprehensible once the speaker got a lungful of smoke. His coughs only served to remind Mariette of the danger she was in – the fires had mostly gone out on the second floor, but everywhere, ash floated, until the air itself seemed solid. Yes – this was indeed time to go.

"Wait!" The call distracted her just long enough for the newcomer to stumble closer; he seemed to have spotted her, though how he could through all the smog, she couldn't guess. At least until he got near enough for her to make out the high cheekbones, entirely dark eyes and, the dead giveaway, two rather pointy ears. A Wood Elf, by the look of it. Besides the Khajiit, they were rumoured to have the best eyesight in all of Tamriel – it was what made them such skilled archers.

"Please, can you help?" He was eyeing the daggers at her belt now, outstretching arms bound tightly at the wrist. One of the Imperials' prisoners, then. But he wasn't dressed in a Stormcloak uniform . . . "Please, we need to get out of here! If you could cut these bonds . . ."

Mariette shook herself, trying to clear her mind. She always got distracted when others were nearby – particularly _attractive _others – but sadly, now was one of few times when she couldn't stop and chat. Fire-breathing monster. Burning rocks. Right.

"Mmm, sorry sweetie, but I've got a few other priorities." She winked, having to laugh at the utter disbelief on his face. "But if you make it out of here, come find me in Riften!"

And with that, she leaped down to the first floor.

The layer of leather in her boots was designed to absorb impact, and all she felt was a little tingle go up her legs upon landing. The first floor looked even worse than the second, but a hole in the wall nearby provided an excellent exit. She started for it immediately, only to be stopped once more as a hand grabbed her shoulder. But those weren't the long, fine fingers of an elf; these were strong and solid. A Nord's hand.

She turned and came face to face with some strapping, red-headed man staring at her intently. "Oh, not now dear, our lives are sort of in danger. Besides, all the beds are on fire."

"I know that armour," he said, completely ignoring her earlier words and, now that he had spoken, she recognised his voice. Sure enough, there was the young, terrified Hamming, hiding behind his father as though that was all the protection he'd need. "I used to live in the Rift as a boy and your people always meant trouble." Suddenly, like a light dawning across his face, a realisation seemed to hit him, twisting his features from suspicious, to downright furious. "Did you do this?! Call this . . . this beast down upon the town so you could loot our charred corpses?"

Mariette rolled her eyes – the man clearly didn't know the Thieves Guild well. Or he was just an idiot. Either way, he was married, had a child, and a waste of her time. "Oh, of course we did," she said, sliding out from the man's grasp before he could react. "Dragons are all the rage in the stealth business now." She gave him a sarcastic smile and took off out the hole in the inn's wall, her ears still managing to catch the man's roar – apparently, he though she was serious. _Oh, the idiots that live in Falkreath Hold._ Glancing over her shoulder, she had just enough time to catch sight of the Nord telling his son to stay hidden in the inn before the man took off after her, drawing an iron dagger from his belt. Perhaps he thought if he killed her, the beast would just magically disappear. It always made her laugh to think how simple people's minds worked.

She sprinted down a path relatively clear of lumber, but with a building on one side completely in flames, the route wouldn't stay unobstructed for long. Even over the sounds of roars and screams that filled the air, Mariette could hear the sound of wood cracking, and had just enough time to leap to the side before a portion of the house came down on her. The man chasing her – Hamming's father, whatever his name was – wasn't nearly so lucky; a cry of pain came from behind, and a quick check over her shoulder revealed the Nord lying in a puddle of blood across the scorched ground, clutching his side where it had been pierced by one of the long, wooden splinters the building had shed. Hamming screamed from the inn and ran for his father, most likely ending to help in some way. _How adorable. An utterly futile gesture, of course, but adorable. _She couldn't imagine she'd be seeing either Hamming or his father ever again. Well, that was what Nords got when they chose to pick fights at the absolute most inconvenient time imaginable.

Ducking into the burning ruins of someone's home, Mariette took a moment to re-evaluate her escape plan. Right in front of her hiding spot, a dozen Imperials had their eyes locked on the skies, sending volleys of arrows towards the dragon while General Tullius himself shouted out orders. Helgen's main gate was just past them, and while confusion and chaos ruled the town, Mariette didn't much like her chances of slipping past a small army of armed guards, all while watching out for the dragon.

However, Helgen's _other _gate was quite undefended – a perfect escape opportunity. Providing, of course, she could manage to sprint across the completely open ground to get to it, dodging falling rocks and dragon fire and anyone who might recognise her armour as Hamming's father had.

_Nothing to worry about, _she reassured herself. _Like taking a sweet roll from a baby._

The dragon swooped low to the ground, jaws gaping open, either to spew fire or snatch up an unaware soldier. The Imperials didn't wait to find out, scattering behind what little cover they could find while the dragon roared in annoyance, raining its fire down upon those who hadn't been quick or lucky enough to get away.

Well, the Imperials – and the beast – were distracted. Now might be as good a time as ever.

Mariette squared her shoulders, locked her eyes on the gate in the distance and, without further pause, took off running. The soles of her boots made next to no sound as she tore across the road, arms pumping and heart pounding. All around her, the flaming rocks fell, but she nimbly dodged each one, darting from side to side all while keeping her goal within eyesight. It wasn't far now – another second and she'd be-

_BOOM!_

The ground seemed to jolt out from under her, and suddenly she wasn't running, but falling, rolling over and over on her side until she came to a stop a few feet from the gate. _Damn. _What was that? No mere rock could have made such an impact across the entire town.

Propping herself up on one bruised elbow, she glanced back, and despite always maintaining a calm, cool façade, Mariette felt her heart skip a beat. The dragon, the enormous, deadly dragon, had landed.

Thank the gods it wasn't facing her, at least, though she'd seen evidence of the damage its tail could do as well. The beast's deadly fire blazed towards the Imperials, roasting all save General Tullius and the few he had managed to yank aside before the blaze hit. They were still dazed though, in no shape to continue fighting, and the dragon's jaws snapped closer, ready to swallow them whole.

Then, as suddenly and strangely as the monster's first appearance had been, the dragon stopped and turned its head. For a heart-stopping moment, Mariette thought its attention had passed to her, but the beast's red eyes stopped before reaching her. Instead, they fixed firmly on the figure of a man taking shelter under the small, stone bridge that connected two of Helgen's walls; the Wood Elf from before. He was staring, almost transfixed, at the dragon, whether from awe, terror or shock, she couldn't tell. But she could guess fear would be overtaking him now, as the beast glared right at the man, opening its mouth and . . . _speaking_?

Mariette had expected a blast of fire, or perhaps some snapping teeth. Instead, a deep, powerful voice seemed to come from the dragon's mouth, spitting out harsh words Mariette couldn't understand for the life of her. Then, even stranger, the words stopped and the beast almost _laughed_; a wicked, grating laugh that chilled her to the very core.

"FUS RO DAH!"

The dragon's shout came without warning, words barely distinguishable; it was more like an explosion, bursting forth from the beast's jaws and slamming into the Wood Elf with incredible force. Mariette watched his limp body fly into the stone wall behind him, hitting it with a sickening thud before collapsing at the base, either dead or unconscious, Mariette didn't know and really didn't care to stick around and find out. A brown-haired Imperial was running to the elf's side, while others, having gotten over their shock, gripped their weapons once more and attacked. The dragon snarled in fury as the Imperial captain herself came charging forward, sword in hand, but the beast took off before she could land a blow.

Yes, with that thing raining fire down from skies once more, it was definitely time to take her leave.

Mariette jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain of the bruises she'd sustained during her tumble, and nearly ran straight into the gate as she turned to go. She hadn't realised how close she'd gotten, and now, up close, she could see that, while closed and locked, the Imperials clearly hadn't been counting on a member of the Thieves Guild taking an interest in their gate. Yanking a lock pick from her pocket, it took her only a few moments before the telltale _click _was heard. Then, with a shove to get the great, wooden doors moving, Mariette was out and sprinting down the road, as far from Helgen as she could get.

(0)(0)(0)

She didn't know how long she'd been running for, barely knew where she was as she'd left the road long ago; the surrounding forest, while flammable, provided a much greater cover than the open paths. And she wasn't keen on meeting anyone or anything for the rest of the night.

Slowly though, she began to slacken her sprinting pace – with no more roars, screams or crashes to be heard, she was confident enough she'd put enough distance between her and Helgen to at least relax a bit. Not to mention how useless this blind running was; what she needed to do was get to a major hold, find a carriage and get back to Riften as soon as possible.

The day was dying quickly, sun already low on the horizon, but enough light shone across her map as Mariette retrieved it from her pocket. She wasn't entirely sure of her exact location, but her gut told her she wasn't too far from Riverwood. If she rested there for the night, then made for Whiterun the next day, she could be on a cart to Riften in no time. And what a story she'd have to tell when she got back – what would the other guild members say of a dragon?

Wait – what _would _they say? All right, yes, she wasn't exactly known for her honesty back in Riften – not that any of the guild members were. But a dragon? Even Mariette found the events of that afternoon hard to believe. No one would take her seriously, and Delvin would berate her for making up the whole thing to get out of the job. After all, she had been sent to steal five hundred gold in goods from Falkreath Hold. What did she have to show for it? One silver necklace, a few petty soul gems and a small, silver sugar dish. No, that wouldn't earn her points with Delvin, or Brynjolf, or Mercer. . They were already keeping her at the bottom level of the guild, but the tiniest screw up and she'd be out for sure.

Sighing, Mariette looked back down at the map. True, she wasn't far from Riverwood, but she could also cut through the forest the other way and head to Falkreath. As the capital of the hold, there must at least be something of worth over there. This dragon business would never be believed, but if she had completed the job, at least she'd have something to show for her troubles.

"Damn it, Delvin," Mariette whispered, folding the map back into her pocket and glancing at the darkness of the forest to her right. That man was going to get her into a lot of trouble some day. She really ought to put more thought into who she took to bed.

Mariette laughed – as though _that_ would ever happen.


End file.
